A Warlock’s Vices

22Apr

Ezramdone woke slowly to the sound of his pet succubus complaining to someone about him. Silently, he listened in, his leather-bound gaze fixed on the demoness as she scrubbed herself. Her words bit harshly at the undead man’s ego. She threw insults like ugly, insensitive, and selfish about. Funny, only she got to the big finish last night. Totally selfish. Finally, he gathered his Fel energies to speak. “Shut up, Sylissa.” He rose and pulled on his clothes without looking at her or her companion.

As he finally pulled on his bright pink, tattered cape, he turned around, then paused as he realized who the succubus had been speaking to. It was a very familiar dead troll in thick armor. “Theeloos. Hello.” He inclined his head. “Did you think about what I said?”

“What?” Theeloos’s glowing eyes blinked beneath his helmet.

“About your sister.”

He looked away with a grunt. “I been tryin’ not to, mon.”

Ezramdone looked into Theeloos’s eyes with a disapproving gaze. “She is the only family you have. She is alone all the time. Take responsibility and spend some time with her in Northrend.”

“Why don’t you? be spendin’ time wit her, Ezzy mon?” Theeloos’s tone was pouty.
“I already do. How do you think I know how lonely she is? I meet up with her once a week, and we talk over drinks in the Valley of Wisdom in Orgrimmar.” His tone was flat. “She hardly sees Riermar anymore, let alone Kressa. Even Marlendra doesn’t spend time with her. You’ll go to Northrend with her and play under Garrosh for a bit, and while you’re there, you’ll collect some cloth for me.”

“Why you gotta do dis to me?” The troll groaned.

“Because otherwise you’ll waste your time moping about uselessly. This way, you have a reason to mope, and you’ll also do something useful.”

“I give up.”

“Good boy.” The undead warlock picked up his pack and fastened it to his belt. Thank whoever for the invention of bags that were bigger on the inside. He checked his belt for his weapons, and once satisfied, he looked at his troll companion. “Where to?”

“Just north of here, near some dead mushrooms. I hear dere be some work dere.”

Ezramdone nodded. “Then that’s where we’ll go.” He looked around, then began to chant. He wanted a more useful demon at his command than the flighty succubus. He settled on his imp– the little bastard had been his first companion, and was often overlooked, but of late, he began to notice just how useful it was again and began to use the tiny thing in combat. Sylissa swayed dizzily as he sent her back safely to the plane she lived on when she wasn’t warming his bed or ‘helping’ with fighting.

As the small, red-skinned demon appeared, it looked around, then scratched at its long nose. “Doh! Why’d you have to call me, you! GRR!” Its speech was fast and all run together. The remnants of Ezramdone’s lips curled upward. “Off we go,” he murmured as he walked out of the inn. For a few moments, he simply watched the sky.

Like Theeloos, Ezramdone was a late riser. Unlike Theeloos, Ezramdone went to bed late. He glanced back at the death knight. “Lead on.” The warlock climbed onto his winged lion and took to the air after Theeloos, then followed him until he landed. All around, the tall mushrooms blocked out much of the sky’s light, and glowing creatures were kept at bay by rough defensive walls.

The pair dismounted, and their day began.

They began with killing things, more killing, searching for plants, and even more killing. They completed the various mercenary work swiftly, and soon left a satisfied settlement behind, with urging to visit another settlement This cycle led them farther and farther West, until finally, when they were in flight, they could see right off the edge of the world.

As the wings of his lion flapped lazily, Ezramdone looked down into the abyss below. Theeloos looked down as well, shifted into the form of a giant, black, winged cat.

“I dare you to jump.” Ezramdone smirked at his troll friend.

“You serious, mon? Dat be a long drop!”

“What? Are you scared?”

Theeloos huffed and looked down, then changed back to his natural form and plummeted. Ezramdone laughed and shook his head as he flew to a nearby graveyard to wait for his friend to get sick of falling.

All around, bog beasts stared at the living corpse as he loitered about. Now and then, he looked up at them and hissed, just to see if they would jump with surprise. Very few showed any signs of shock, however, and Ezramdone quickly became bored. Eventually, he decided to practice stitching up capes, just to keep in practice.

Far below, Theeloos couldn’t even see the bottom of the land anymore. He was simply there and simply falling through the cosmos, arms crossed over his chest. “Dis was only fun da first two minits.” The young male grunted and looked at his sword, then shrugged and drew it from its sheath.

His death came swiftly and out of the prying eyes of anyone who might laugh. As his spirit appeared in the graveyard not far from Ezramdone, he paused to watch the dead man work. Ezramdone seemed unaware of Theeloos’ presence, and continued his stitching as though unobserved.

Nearby, Ezramdone’s imp was complaining about how his feet hurt, the air was too wet, he would never get dry, and how his grandkids never visited.

At the last one, Ezramdone looked at him, and he became quiet. “Yeah, ok, I don’t have any. What’s it to ya? Wanna fight? I’ll take you!” The imp took casting stance and waited, only for Ezramdone to pat its head gently and return to work. “You’re a jerk.” The small Fel sat down beside Ezramdone and drove his head to the ground repeatedly until his nose became stuck.

“Stuck?”

“No, not at all. Just go back to doing girl things.” It pushed against the ground several times, and Ezramdone ignored it.

Finally, Theeloos’ body appeared and he joined back with it. “Why you so mean to ya demons, Ezzy?” he asked with a grin.

“Oh, you know.” Ezramdone tied off a stitch and held up the final result– a pair of shoes. “Just letting them learn from experience.” He shot the younger male a grin.

Mood, formerly known as Face, is a young writer from Michigan who is twenty-five years old. She specializes in fantasy and loves creating new worlds. Mood believes she is a talented creator, but knows she still has a lot of skills she needs to improve.

This blog is her practice area. She writes publicly in hopes that having readers will lessen her chances of skipping a day.